


Despite Everything

by Naralanis



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, Hurt/Comfort, just sap, word vomit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:28:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21898192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naralanis/pseuds/Naralanis
Summary: Hermione reminds Narcissa there is no guilt in mourning.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Narcissa Black Malfoy
Comments: 3
Kudos: 142





	Despite Everything

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beforeyouspeak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beforeyouspeak/gifts).



> For the Discord holiday exchange! EXCUSE THE WORD VOMIT!

“Andy told me I’d find you here.”

There was a gasp of surprise, and then blond hair whipped in the wind as a teary azure gaze met Hermione’s. Narcissa’s hair and coat were dappled with freshly fallen snow; her cheeks were rosy and marred by tear-tracks. 

She attempted a smile, but only managed a grimace. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” she said solemnly, turning away from Hermione. Her voice was heavy and hoarse. It broke Hermione’s heart to see her like this. 

Hermione ignored the statement, stepping forward and feeling the snow crunch beneath her boots. She wondered how long Narcissa had sat there by the modest headstone.

“Nonsense,” she declared as she brushed the considerable amount of snow off Narcissa’s shoulders. “I’m right where I need to be.”

She could see Narcissa clenching her jaw, eyes fixed on the name carved into stone. 

Once upon a time, merely seeing Bellatrix Lestrange’s name would send Hermione into a spiral of panic. It would ignite memories of the woman’s deranged black eyes, her insane cackling, her crazed wrath as she carved letters onto Hermione’s flesh. 

Now, seeing her second-rate tombstone in this forgotten little cemetery that was the madwoman’s final resting place, all she felt was a muted, long-forgotten pain travelling up her arm. The scar had never fully healed, but the wound hadn’t bled in many years. 

She rubbed Narcissa’s shoulder’s wordlessly, feeling the strength  with which the woman tried to contain her sobs. She waited for a long time for Narcissa to speak again. 

“It... it isn’t right.”

Hermione shrugged. “She was your sister.”

Narcissa shook her head forcefully, biting her lip. “She was a  _ lunatic!”  _ She hissed angrily, hands clenching into fists at her sides, trembling with the force of the gesture. “She... she... was a monster. She killed for sport, she... she tortured so many.” Her eyes were fixed upon the headstone with a mixture of anger and shame. “She tortured  _ you.” _

Hermione sighed; her breath was visible in the cold air, and she felt Narcissa tremble beneath her touch. “Yes,” she acknowledged glumly. “But she was still your sister. It’s alright to miss her.”

Narcissa sobbed. “No,” she whispered. Her shoulders shook with her sobs, and Hermione rubbed her back in soothing circles. They had had this discussion before. It was often hard to come to terms with how much Bellatrix had impacted her sisters’ lives, for Hermione had only recently been able to see beyond her trauma. It was harder still for Narcissa to acknowledge her own. 

“It isn’t right,” Narcissa repeated, a hand resting on Bellatrix’s tombstone. “Not when even in death, she plagues my dreams.”

Hermione wound an arm around Narcissa’s waist, bringing her close. She smelled like peppermint and rose; her skin was warm despite the cold. “I know this is a hard time for you.”

Narcissa did not turn to face her. “Ten years, and I still see her pinning you down. I still hear your screams.”

Hermione reached for Narcissa’s hand; their hands lay entwined over the cold stone. “You can still grieve for her, Narcissa. Despite everything, she was your sister.”

She rubbed at Narcissa’s tears, tenderly stroking the witch’s cheeks. “How can you live with me?” the blonde asked, bottom lip trembling. “How can you l-love me after everything she’s done, after what I did to...” She cut herself off, eyes closing  forcefully. “I don’t deserve this happiness.”

Hermione silenced her with a gentle kiss. 

“ _ Yes, you do.  _ I don’t blame you, Narcissa” she said fiercely, because it was the truth. “And neither should you.” What Narcissa saw as inaction and failure, Hermione saw as sheer terror. She remembered more vividly than she cared to admit, the utter horror in Narcissa’s eyes as Bellatrix tormented her with the excruciating pain of her particular brand of the  _ Cruciatus  _ curse. 

They stood for a long time, Narcissa resting her head on Hermione’s shoulder. The snow fell around them, blanketing the small, forgotten cemetery in white silence. 

“I hate her.” Narcissa said suddenly. “I hate what she did, what she became. And yet...”

“You love her.” Hermione stated simply. “You miss who she was... who she could have been. You grieve for a sister you lost far before Bellatrix died.”

Narcissa leaned further into Hermione, releasing a sad sigh. 

“How is it that you understand me so well?” 

Hermione allowed herself a little smile. “Years of practice.”

What an unlikely pair they were—all of their acquaintances made sure they were aware of that little fact—but she would not change this for the world. She gave Narcissa’s hand a little squeeze. 

“Do you remember what you said to me on our very first date?”

Blue eyes finally met her gaze once more. Narcissa’s cheeks were dry, but her eyes still glimmered in the moonlight. 

“ _ Ms. Granger... there are about a million reasons why this is a bad idea.”  _ She recounted verbatim. 

Hermione could not help but smile at the memory. Andromeda had set them up, and they had both approached that first dinner with a flood of disbelief and a general unwillingness to even give it an honest try. Hermione distinctively remembered Narcissa snootily saying something along the lines of ‘Andromeda’s machinations have now taken a turn to insanity’. 

It was a fond memory. 

She motioned to the headstone before them. “ _ This  _ was one of the million reasons. Possibly the main reason. And yet, here we are.”

“Here we are,” Narcissa repeated, lips tugging into a small smile. 

“Here we are, and there she is. Nothing, not even Bellatrix, can’t stop what we have, do you understand?” She waited for Narcissa’s weak nod of reply. “You shouldn’t feel ashamed of grieving for her,” she tilted Narcissa’s chin, “I’m still here despite everything, aren’t I?”

Narcissa’s smile broadened. She glanced at Bellatrix’s grave one last time.

“Take me home.”

* * *

* * *

* * *

The bed they shared was warm, a shelter from the snow they had carried on their coats all the way home. Hermione allowed herself to get lost in that warmth, in the comfort that Narcissa’s deep breaths provided, in the soft steady rhythm of the witch’s heartbeat mingled with her own. She drowned in the depths of those blue eyes as they filled with tears—tears of sheer happiness and old sorrows—and drifted into bliss with the softness of Narcissa’s lips upon her own. 

She woke to the feeling of a gentle caress; it left goosebumps on its wake as it travelled over the raised letters that marred her arms. 

Hermione blinked, meeting Narcissa’s gaze. Her touch was tentative; soft and shy as she traced the old wound her sister had inflicted.

“Hey,” the brunette said groggily. 

“Hello,” Narcissa greeted her with a smile. Her caress continued ever so softly. There was no shame in her eyes anymore, only a sense of wonder, perhaps curiosity. 

“Knut for your thoughts?”

Narcissa’s smile illuminated the room; she was  beam of sunlight after the cold night, and that happiness was palpable. 

“I’m a rather lucky witch.”

Hermione pulled her closer, the grief and pain from the previous night all forgotten. Bellatrix did not exist beyond the scars on her arm, and old, forgotten wound Narcissa now kissed tenderly. 

All was well, and would be. Despite everything. 


End file.
